Masquerade
by Keryous Seastryder
Summary: Hisagi Shuuhei wants to get to know his childhood savior better, but isn't quite ready to show the man just how much he means to him. Muguruma Kensei just wants to be left alone, but his hollow and a bit of curiosity get the better of him.


**Warnings: language, yaoi, and possible OOC-ness.**

A howl echoed through the sweltering air as another hollow faded away, dissolving into nothing more than reiatsu. A silver haired male standing on the edge of a residential home's roof sighed once, jerking a gloved hand through his closely cropped locks, disappointed by the lack of challenge that had been surrounding him for years now. He dropped his short, knife-like blade, Tachikaze, into one of the many pockets of his green cargo pants. After plopping down irritably on the edge of the roof, he proceeded to fume while glaring at the late night pedestrians scurrying around below. He tried to stay alert enough that he wouldn't be surprised by any pesky shinigami, or miss a hollow on the other side of town.

Used to be that the Vizards didn't have to worry about shinigami interference. In fact, they used to ignore them completely. That is till after the damned war. Till after they had refused to return to the Gotei 13. Till after they had refused to sign that damn treaty. But now, they received regular spies and representatives and such. Threats of war, promises of promotion, it was all the same to the Soul Society. As long as it was a way to ensure that none of those evil half-hollow freaks weren't going to terrorize them. Doesn't matter that they had never struck out against them. Doesn't matter that they had joined in the fight against that bastard, Aizen.

Normally he had no issue with patrolling Karakura Town, didn't think this much about pessimistic things, even enjoyed the single-minded task of searching and watching and killing hollows. No, patrol duty hadn't been what was bothering him. It wasn't even the fact that he had been practically thrown out of the warehouse not one, not two, not even three, but four nights in a row to patrol (by a way too happy Shinji, he might add), even though there were shinigami crawling about. It was that it had been today. His birthday. And no one had said a damn thing. He knew it was childish, to care about such a silly thing, but...

_You would think that after over a hundred years_, he thought, getting more and more pissed by the second, _after more than a fucking century together...!_

His inner hollow then chuckled darkly, hissing to his mind, _**Don't lose yer to temper over such a petty matter, idiot, 'sides your real present is gunna get 'ere soon...**_

Slightly shocked that his aggressive, violent inner hollow was telling him to hold his temper, the well toned man had been just about to snap at the damned creature, to ask just what the hell he was talking about, when Tachikaze, his zanpakuto's spirit thrummed in surprise and pleasure from his pocket. More annoyed than before, he clenched his teeth and thrust his reiatsu outward trying to detect a presence that he had obviously missed.

A faint hint of reiatsu was approaching him fast from the east. It seemed almost... familiar. If he hadn't been alerted by his resident spirits he might have passed the well-suppressed reiatsu off as a slightly above average human's (which Karakura was full of). The man had yanked himself into a standing position, wondering what exactly to do. The one behind the reiatsu was heading right at him, seemed to be a shinigami, but neither his inner hollow or his zanpakuto had seemed to be worried about any malicious intent. In fact, that infuriating hollow had went as far as calling it a 'present'.

Before he had had time to think about it more, the reiatsu's owner was upon him. The shinigami hadn't even tried to hide himself, other than suppressing his energy so the angry man hadn't noticed it until it was too late to do much about it.

Said shinigami landed in a crouch on the roof across the street from the one he was standing on. He hadn't been able to help but appreciate the shinigami's lean, graceful figure as he stood, muscles rippling under tight fitting black clothing that had rather reminded him of what that Yoruichi wore. He eyed the pitch colored hair, the milky skin, the zanpakuto strapped to his back that had confirmed this to be a shinigami, and his amber gaze had widened when it landed on a certain feature.

A mask.

Not a hollow mask, but an ornately decorated, full size, costume mask. This struck a chord in the Vizard. Was this shinigami making fun of him? Or was it some odd kind of symbolic peace offering? Or maybe it is just meant to hide one's face. It was inky in color with pale inlay designs that he hadn't been able to quite make out. It had looked to be made of stone, yet delicate. It's only purpose seemed to be to hide the identity of the wearer. The wearer who's reiatsu seemed so familiar.

"Muguruma Kensei." The shinigami had rasped, subconsciously shifting nervously; tugging at his spiky hair, then fixing his collar and readjusting a strange choker.

_**Like a ruffled little school girl admittin' her feelin's ta her crush**_, his hollow leered, _**can't wait ta unwrap 'im. **_

The silver haired man nodded stiffly to the shinigami while forcing his hollow deeper into his subconscious, trying to get it to shut the hell up. Damn thing was always trying to get him in bed with someone.

"I'm Muguruma Kensei. Who are you?" He bit out a rough reply when the shinigami had said nothing, "What do you want?"

The shinigami tensed a bit at the harsh answer, but Kensei couldn't find it in himself to care. He was in a crappy mood, and this reaper had sought him out (apparently just to say his name), and he was adorned with a mask that Kensei was almost sure wasn't an insult, almost, and his damned hollow was being quite talkative. Oh, and his family of over a century forgot his birthday. That too.

"I'm... The Taicho of the 9th Division. And I'm just here to, um, talk?" he stated a bit hesitantly, shifting into an awkward standing position on the steep slope of ceramic tiles, somehow still looking graceful in a sheepish way.

Kensei instantly bristled and curled his lips into a snarl. He just didn't get a fucking break did he? And the brat didn't even respect him enough to give him a real answer. He felt his anger swell up more and more till it boiled over.

"I'm not interested in talking with you Taicho of the 9th Division." He all but growled at the Captain before him, "Sending the new Captain of my old Division to recruit me, and while I'm on my own too! Soul Society sure has sunken low..." He continued to mutter while turning his back, having no intention to stay with the reaper.

The Captain seemed to shrink back as Kensei went on his tirade, but had regained a bit of confidence by the end of it, standing up straighter as he clarified before Kensei could shunpo away.

"Wait! You misunderstand! Yes, I have been sent to relay an offer for a position, but for the sake of my job I prefer you to stay as a Vizard. And I wanted... I, er, wanted to speak with you again. It's been s-so long..." His voice all but chocked with shyness at the end.

Kensei looked over his shoulder at the shinigami who had moved to stand on the same roof he was residing on. Not only had he confirmed that he knew him, but also advised him against returning to the Gotei 13.

"Who exactly are you, kid?" He grunted, "And I don't want any position bullshit, I want a name."

"Muguruma-san?"

"Huh?"

"I am wearing a mask, correct?"

"It appears so, kid."

"Well, then," The reaper stated matter-of-factually, "I would say it is safe to assume I'm attempting to hide my identity."

Kensei just snorted.

"Pretty cheeky. Your alright, kid. But don't make a habit of talking to me like that." Kensei chuckled. "But since we seem to know each other, you probably already knew that."

"Not really. We weren't exactly well acquainted, Muguruma-san." The masked man admitted, scratching the back of his head.

"Oh?" The Vizard asked, "Well enough for you to want to talk, though?"

"Ah. No. It's more of a personal interest..."

_**I want him**_, Tachikaze announced.

Kensei scoffed to himself. This was getting to be ridiculous.

"Come along, then, kid," assuming the Quincy boy could handle the hollows tonight; the Vizard motioned for the shinigami to follow him, "Let's find somewhere to chat."

**A/N: Well, this is likely to be a pretty short fic, one or two more chapters probably. I hope everyone likes it! Reviews please!**


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